Temptation
by autumnsbliss
Summary: [A/U] Amanda Rollins is accustom to living her life in a state of chaos…on the brink of disaster, and her way of life shows no signs of slowing down when a potential one-night stand with a Staten Island homicide detective is interrupted by the discovery of what seems to be an underage prostitution scandal with a crooked cop at the forefront.


_A/N: Hey everyone! I'm honestly a little nervous to post this because it's definitely a little different from anything I've written on here before, but I'm also super excited to (finally) get it started! I've had this idea for a while and have been fleshing it out for months so I hope you all enjoy the first part! I can't promise quick updates (as I'm busy with classes and still doing weekly prompts on Tumblr), but I'll try my best not to be painfully slow about it. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

Motherhood had been kind to Olivia Benson. Seemingly all it took to convince the dedicated sergeant that there was more to life than late nights hunched over a stack of police reports was holding little Noah Porter in her arms for the first time after being named as his foster parent. Perhaps all it took to bring her back down to Earth after having to face the unimaginable throughout her entire career was looking into the eyes of a child – her child – and knowing that there was still some good in the world that often looked nothing short of cruel from the lens of their line of work.

Amanda was happy for her each time she had to run directly back to her apartment after work to take care of her son instead of heading to happy hour with her and Nick. She truly was. She would be lying, however, if she said that Olivia's grounding presence wasn't sorely missed in those moments.

Admittedly, Nick wasn't the best influence on her. It wasn't as if she was a great influence on him either, in all fairness, but she figured that perhaps they were both broken enough at the time that it didn't matter. Nights with Nick were always the same: they would drink entirely too much and end up having drunk, seemingly meaningless sex that they would both pretend meant more than it did in the morning.

Saint Nick Amaro would never have admitted to having meaningless sex, she would always consider bitterly. God forbid he let that mask slip for even a second.

In her eyes, Nick was a warm body. She didn't love him. Hell, sometimes she barely liked him. But he was there, and he was lonely after his own marriage had fallen apart, and — admittedly — being with him and mutually turning a blind eye to the fact that their "relationship" was unsteady at best was easy.

A dull pain was already present behind her eyes by the time she woke up wrapped in soft sheets with a familiarly warmth radiating from the space next to her, and she stretched her arms out with a lazy groan when the sun slanted against her face from behind the open curtains.

"Morning," his gruff, sleep-laced voice greeted her. She mumbled something incoherent and turned to bury her face into the feather pillow under her head. "What was that?"

Voice muffled by the soft fabric of the pillowcase, she raised it enough to feel her words in her chest this time. "I said good morning."

He chuckled, and she could feel his arm snake around her waist before moving himself closer to her. The skin of his chest was comfortably warm against her back, and she breathed out a peaceful sigh despite the dryness in her mouth and the throbbing in her temples. Things may not have been serious between them, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy waking up next to him in the morning…even with a hangover she knew was built to last for some time.

"God I feel like hell," she commented. He kissed her shoulder, taking his time to make his way up to her neck, and she squirmed just slightly in response. "Doesn't seem like you can relate."

"Some people know their limits," he teased.

Amanda's lips parted to respond with a snarky remark of her own, but the thought was interrupted by a ping sounding from where his phone rested on the nightstand. A chill settled over her at the loss of his additional body heat when he turned over to grab it, and pulled the sheet more tightly to her body as she turned over herself to watch him. She couldn't help but admire the way the morning sun settled over him, illuminating his skin so that it looked almost golden and highlighting the strong features of his face. If nothing else, he was a sight for sore eyes.

The small smile that subconsciously tugged at his lips let her know that the text was more than likely regarding his daughter. The one thing that never failed to bring the best out of him. Surely she knew that if — by any chance — she were to actually fall for him, it would be for the Nick that he showed himself to be when he was with Zara.

"Maria?" She asked.

"Yeah. Zara's got a dentist appointment but they should be back home by noon." He tapped out a quick response to his ex before locking his phone and looking back to the blonde next to him. "I'm sure she'd love to see you if you wanted to stick around until then."

"Can't this time," she told him with an apologetic half-smile. "My old squad from Atlanta's in Jersey for a conference this weekend. I told them we'd meet up for drinks this afternoon."

"Sure you're up for another round of drinks?"

"Don't be too shocked when I tell you, but I can actually handle myself," she responded with a chuckle and a lighthearted nudge with her elbow. "Give Zara a hug for me though, alright?"

She leaned over to peck his lips before he could respond, and with a ruffle of her fingers through his dark hair, she slipped away from him to get dressed and start the day.

* * *

She'd had every intention of meeting her old squad for drinks when she'd packed up her car late that morning and started on the drive down to New Jersey. That was until she was forced to sit in the confinements of the car, unable to escape from the creeping feeling of dread that began to settle in the pit of her stomach and creep up into her chest the longer she kept the company of her own thoughts.

If she didn't have to look at or think about her old boss — the man who had done the unthinkable to her shortly before she had made the decision to leave Georgia for good — she could pretend that it never happened. She could push it far enough away from the boundaries of conscious thought that it could feel like nothing more than a vivid nightmare.

She knew, however, that if she met up with her old squad and was forced to sit across the table from him...having to smile and make amicable small talk as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever taken place between them...she would be forced to confront the fact that what had happened to her was all too real.

The realization made her chest constrict and the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, and instead of taking the exit that she needed to make it to the restaurant on time, she kept driving south until she reached the comfortable familiarity of Atlantic City.

An inkling of reason inside of her knew that her gambling had been getting out of hand again, but she had promised herself that she would know when to stop. That all she had to do was win back what she had lost over the course of the past few weeks, and that once she broke even she'd take a break for a while.

If only the Michigan State football coach knew how to use a damn timeout, she thought bitterly, maybe she could have done that already.

With her plans for the day having changed, she had reasoned with herself that spending the day attempting to win back at least some of what she had lost through the previous weekend's college football bets was time well spent. Maybe she could inch herself closer to being out of the red. Maybe she could at least win enough so that she would be able to focus at work for the next week as opposed to fixating on when her next paycheck was going to clear.

Most of the day passed her by in a blur, but by the time she sat down at the Blackjack table, the thrill of the game had her feeling alert and invigorated. Two men sat on either side of her as the dealer dealt everyone's hand. One was a short, broad-shouldered man who reeked of booze and grumbled a snide comment to accompany every hand he lost. The other was taller and well-dressed, who didn't say much, but whose voice was laced with a thick, familiar accent each time he'd offer the dealer a simple "hit me". The juxtaposition may have been amusing to her had she not been so laser focused on the adrenaline coursing through her veins each time she collected her winnings.

She looked at the cards in front of her, barely paying any mind to the stocky man to her right eyeing her warily as she drummed her fingers anxiously against the edge of the table. Seventeen. It wasn't a terrible hand, per say, but it certainly could have been better.

A part of her knew it was safest to stand and hope for either a push or for the dealer to bust. But she was a gambler at heart, and after just a brief moment of contemplation, she tapped a finger against the table.

"Hit me."

Another surge of adrenaline sent pins and needles down to her fingertips as the dealer laid a four of hearts out in front of her.

Blackjack.

The thrill and euphoria that came alongside the perfect hand had her feeling so invigorated that she had barely noticed the man to her right clumsily swing around to face her, his elbow knocking into the drink next to him and nearly tipping the fragrant liquid out onto the table.

"This bitch is countin' cards!" He slurred, the loud declaration effectively catching the attention of the rest of the table.

"You realize we're not playin' against each other, right?" Amanda scoffed in response. "Why don't you just finish your drink and mellow out, tough guy? If I were countin' cards I think I'd be up a lot more than two hundred."

He stood up abruptly, his chair rattling against the floor when he did, and he glared down at her from mere inches away. "I don't know who you think you're talkin' to like that but I'd watch my tone if I were you."

Her lips parted to warn him of getting any closer to her. She knew that she could handle him if she had to ; She'd certainly handled more than her fair share of rowdy, inebriated men working weekend overnights during the early stages of her career. The majority of her focus, however, was on winning back the money she'd squandered throughout the week, and she wanted nothing less than for this to become a distraction and throw off the much needed winning streak she'd finally found herself riding.

The man, unsteady on his feet, was still standing over her however, and she had a feeling that the situation was not going to deescalate without her interference. That was at least until another voice sounded from her left.

"Take it easy, pal," the other, seemingly more levelheaded man who'd been sitting on the other side of her chimed in. "Gettin' a little too aggressive there."

"What are you, a goddamn cop?" Her aggressor spat.

In response to the question aimed in his direction, the other man's hand moved to brush his jacket aside, flashing the easily recognizable badge on his hip.

"Got it in one."

The drunk man's face practically glowed crimson red when he directed his ire towards the dealer, and Amanda could swear he was due to pass out from overexertion alone.

"These two know each other and they're runnin' a scam!" He insisted. Amanda's eyes met with the fellow officer to her left, and they exchanged amused half-smiles at the unfolding drama. "Kick 'em out! Both of 'em!"

"Sir, the only person getting kicked out is you if you can't manage to get yourself under control," the dealer told him with a stoic calmness.

The rest of the players at their table, as well as a small group of bystanders whose attention had been grabbed by the commotion from nearby, watched him go, but the dealer seemed not to miss a beat as she promptly began to deal her cards out once more. Amanda glanced down at her cards briefly once they were in front of her, but her eyes seemed to primarily linger on the man who remained next to her as she considered what to say. Should she thank him for stepping in? Reprimand him for treating her like some sort of damsel in distress? Or maybe somewhere in between.

"I've handled much worse than that idiot," she finally said, and when he turned his head to look at her, she offered a lighthearted smile that he generously returned. "You really didn't have to get involved."

"Yeah well I was gettin' sick of listening to the guy," he told her.

She had a feeling they both knew that wasn't exactly true, but she also had a feeling that they were both going to let it slide with nothing more than a light chuckle anyway. Perhaps it was the alcohol she'd consumed earlier taking the lead, but she couldn't help but notice the dimple in his cheek when he laughed...the effortless intensity of his gaze when he looked down at his cards to contemplate his next move.

Her eyes almost immediately flickered back to the cards in front of her.

Goddamit…focus.

She'd been dealt a terrible hand anyway, and she surrendered for the round without much of a second thought. Her eyes shifted back over to him when he did the same, and she was admittedly surprised to find that he looked back at her as well. As if expecting their brief, seemingly meaningless conversation to continue.

She wasn't entirely sure what else to say, but he was looking at her with those bright blue eyes that made her want to say something.

"So do you always wear your badge off-duty or did you just have a feeling you were gonna need it tonight?" She finally asked in a playful tone.

"Honestly?" He asked back in response, and he chuckled lightly when her curiosity piqued. "I came here straight from my shift. Forgot I still had it on until that idiot brought it up."

Coming to the casino to forget about the day directly after work. Amanda knew more about that than she knew she probably should have.

"Rough day?" She asked.

"Almost always is working homicide," he said with a sincerity that almost took her by surprise. "And never gets easier."

It was rather honest considering the fact that they were strangers, but maybe he felt the same way she did: that the anonymity was comfortable in a way. There was no mask to put on…no pressure to conform to what you were supposed to be. She knew as well as anyone the pressure that there was in their line of work not to show anything that could be perceived as weakness or vulnerability of any sort. They were supposed to be stronger than that. More resilient.

"Sorry…I didn't mean to…"

"No…I get it," she assured him before he could complete the thought.

He looked at her almost curiously, but before he could respond, an older woman closer to the end of the table let out an excited whoop as the dealer pushed a substantial amount of chips into the space in front of her. The cop next to Amanda chuckled, and a fond smile touched his lips before he glanced briefly at his watch. With little contemplation, he tossed a few chips towards the dealer as a tip and gathered the rest of them up in front of him.

"Alright. Looks like my luck's run out," he said. "It was nice meeting you…"

"Amanda," she responded absentmindedly before quickly shifting topics. "You're really gonna cash out now? That was the first bad hand you've had since you got here."

He allowed an almost amused smile to play on his expression in response to her surprise, and they locked eyes for a moment that felt just a little too long.

"Sometimes you gotta know when to walk away, Amanda."

For reasons she couldn't be sure of, her words caught briefly in her throat, and he offered her one last smile before turning to leave. Something had her feeling almost lightheaded, and she had to wonder if that was from the whiskey she'd polished off earlier or if it was simply something about this stranger. The thrill that came along with the anonymity, perhaps.

Before he could step away from the table, she found her mouth operating faster than her consciousness, and she had barely noticed she was calling out to him until she could feel her own voice vibrate in her chest.

"Hey…uh..."

He looked back to her again with a curiously friendly gaze.

"Sonny."

"Sonny," she repeated. The name felt unfamiliar on her tongue. "You know, if you leave now you might be messin' up the table's mojo. You should probably stick around this way you don't screw me over in the process."

"Or," he paused with a chuckle, "you could just take your two hundred dollars, call it a night, and come grab a drink with me across the street."

Her eyes briefly shifted back to the small pile of chips in front of her. It was ridiculous to walk away when she was finally winning, she thought, but temptation almost seemed to be rearing its head in the opposite direction that night. It told her that there would be plenty of opportunities to multiply her winnings before her next shift at work…that whatever she had going on with Nick back home wasn't serious or exclusive enough to mean that she couldn't have a drink with a stranger and see where the night took them. She wouldn't have held it against him if he had done the same, after all.

With one last moment of contemplation, she finally made the decision to gather her chips in preparation to cash out. Perhaps it was impulsive…selfish even…to leave the casino with someone she didn't know…to assume that she and Nick were on the same page in regards to where they stood with one another. But those thoughts were admittedly fleeting, and by the time she'd cashed out and headed across the street to the bar with a man whose name she was certain she wouldn't remember within a week, her life back in Manhattan was the last thing on her mind.


End file.
